


Gnocchi

by TwistedWillows



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, spamano - Freeform, useless fluff basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 11:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12839895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedWillows/pseuds/TwistedWillows
Summary: Not everything ispiciin the Vargas brothers' household. Feliciano's new dish has Romano infioriated! Perhaps Spain candoughsomething to help?(After this fic, how will I ever convince you to read my work a-grainAHaha-- okay, I'm done, I'm done) Basically: useless Spamano fluff.





	Gnocchi

**Author's Note:**

> Well, you guys know me; normally, I am a huge history nerd, all over the research, the dates, historical accuracy, blah blah blah, but honestly guys, this fic is just something stupid- useless fluff I've had sitting around on my hard drive for God knows how long, so I suppose I might as well put it here. 
> 
> Honestly, fluff and shmoopy domestic fics aren't really my thing ^^' (omg wow Twisted you don't say *coughcough my only other two fanfictions currently posted here*)- aHEM BUT ANYWAY, honestly this fic was a short little gift for my ex-girlfriend, which, unfortunately I don't know if she ever got to see. Sooo... not my usual style.  
> Oh! Disclaimer: I do not speak Spanish, so if my translations are wrong, please let me know! Thank you very kindly! 
> 
> Will I regret posting this? I might regret posting this.

_Oh, hell **no**._

Romano had seen many things in his many, many, many years of life. The fall of the Roman Empire. The creation of the Silk Road. The discovery of the Americas. The beauty of the Italian renaissance. He had seen the rise of Hitler in Nazi Germany to the murders of millions of innocent people to the rise and fall of the Berlin Wall.  
Romano had seen sweeping victory and devastating tragedy, valiant fighting and biting loss, great innovation and utter monstrosity. But out of all of those utter monstrosities, never in his immortal life had he seen a monstrosity quite so monstrous as this. 

“It’s Gnocchi, fratello!”  
“… What the hell is‘gnocchi’?”  
“It’s a new kind of pasta! I made it this morning!”  
“Sì… but what’s in it?”  
“…..”  
“… Veneziano.”  
“… Heheheh… potatoes.”  
“WHAT?!”  
Romano could feel the blood rushing to his ears. His face grew hot, but not nearly as hot as the angry voice telling him now was a really good time to punch Feliciano in the face-  
“POATATOES? PATATE! TU METTI PATATE NELLA PASTA? PERCHÉ SI ROVINI IL BUON NOME DI PASTA CON QUALCOSA DI COSÌ DISGUSTOSO COME UNA PATATA? BASTARDO!”  
“Ahhh! Please calm down, fratello, I was hanging out with Germany and-”  
“AH, SO IT’S THAT POATATO BASTARD’S FAULT EH? I’LL TEACH HIM A LESSON ABOUT RUINING MY FOOD!”  
So went things in the Italy brother’s household. And as Romano chased Veneziano around the kitchen counter, wielding their pasta spoon like the Italian angel of death, the idea occurred to Italy: _maybe it’s time to call big brother Spain_. 

 

Okay, so maybe there was no excuse. Maybe, just maybe, Romano had been a _little bit_ too harsh on Italy about the pasta thing. _Maybe_ just because he decided to do something as incredibly stupid as putting potato in pasta did not warrant Romano beating him with the pasta spoon until he cried. But hey! In Romano’s defense, it’s not like the brat didn’t deserve it! He should be happy anyways! Now he just had another reason to go crying to his overgrown hash-brown lover. Romano could hear it now. _“Ah, Germany, Germany, my big meanie fratello saw the pasta I made you and he was so mad he beat me up!!! And now I’m crying, so you have to comfort me!! Love me, Germany! Let’s frolic in the field of pretty fucking Dandelions and have explosively loud sex later despite the knowledge that Romano’s room is right across the hallway! And while we’re at it, why don’t we-”_  
_Crack._ And Romano had dropped his lunch. “FUCKER!” He shouted at the broken plate, and he angrily stomped off to find paper towels, grumbling in fragmented bits of Italian and- much to his chagrin- Spanish. Back in the years when Spain was determined to teach him Spanish, the only things he had truly picked up were the man’s agonized grumblings about how impossible Romano could be. He’d been cursing in Spanish ever since he found out it annoyed the man just that much more. But then Spain (like the bastard he is) decided to up and be flattered by it- “Awh, you’re speaking Spanish Roma~~” and nowadays all it really did was piss Romano off even more.  
Truly, Spain had ruined his life. That was the story and he was sticking to it.  
Romano chucked the soiled pasta in the woods and was cleaning up the mess the plate made when he heard Germany’s car pull into the driveway. _Great._ He thought, _that’s just great. You know what? I’m not even going to pick this up anymore. I’m just going to leave the fucking sauce on the fucking floor because the potato head will just re-clean it, just to spite me. Stupid fucking potato heads and their stupid cleaning everything. God I hate him._  
“Fratelloooooo!!” Enter Feliciano!  
“In the kitchen. What do you want?” His brother’s head peeked around the entryway and the man smiled (whatever, Romano was still mad, and no seeing that smile did NOT make him relieved to know he was forgiven for the spoon incident. Because he didn’t feel bad.)  
“Germany’s here!”  
“WAS THAT ALL YOU WANTED TO SAY-”  
“And we’re going to head upstairs to-”  
“Italy, please.”  
“-oh, sorry Germany. Anyway, we’re going to head upstairs so have fun with your pasta!! Ciaooooo!” … Sometimes, Romano honestly hated the little shit.  
Romano grumbled some more, but he gave the floor a decent scrub and headed back to the stove for lunch, attempt two. As he pushed the spoon in gentle circles through boiling water, he found himself humming- some old Italian song he’d probably picked up from _nonno_ somewhere down the road. With the pasta gurgling on the stove and the soft Italian melody, life was almost perfect.  
When life was almost perfect, his thoughts generally wandered to certain people. Certain people with chestnut hair and bright green eyes… the kind that made his heart rate speed up and pinned him to the wall with their color, so intense...  


_“Usted tiene una hermosa voz, mi amor.”_  
Oh, fuck, and now Romano was daydreaming. Romano was definitely daydreaming, because that was Spain’s voice. That was Spain’s voice in his house telling him that he had a beautiful voice.  
“Tch, whatever. Still not as good as yours, bastardo.” And there he was, responding to it. Romano couldn’t help the tiny smile he cracked as he stirred the linguini. “You always had the best voice, you know. I never told you.”  
“Whaaaaaat, really?! Roma likes my voice?!”  
“AHH!” And Romano whirled around from the stove with eyes the size of saucers. “I- you- SPAIN?!” And sure enough, there he was. Standing in Romano’s kitchen like he owned the place, tan skin gleaming and those damnable green eyes sparkling, just like always.  
“Sí, Roma! I thought you heard me! You responded… I didn’t know you liked my voice!” And he had that smile- oh God, that smile- and Romano knew, just _knew_ he was screwed when Spain’s face took on that serious look he never got and he came around the counter to lean against the stove.  
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE YOU SON OF A BITCH WHEN DID YOU GET HERE-”  
“To see you, Lovi~ it’s been so long.”  
“YOU BASTARD. I WAS HAVING A PRIVATE MOMENT. YOU DIDN’T HEAR ANYTHING. YOUR VOICE ISN’T GOOD. IN FACT, IT’S THE OPPOSITE OF GOOD. IT’S BAD, IT’S EXTREMLEY BAD AND I HAVE NEVER LIKED IT. DO YOU HEAR THAT? NEVER.”  
“Now Romano, that’s just not nice.” But he hadn’t stopped smiling and goddamn if Romano didn’t know what that meant. All the same, Romano _hmmphed_ and turned back towards his pasta, glaring away from Spain and trying to will the blood to leave his face. A few seconds were spent in flustered silence, but then Romano spoke again.  
“You could’ve at least fucking called first, you asshole! I have enough shit on my plate to deal with without you dropping in and ruining my peace whenever you so desire! I’m not your colony anymore! First the shit with Germany and now I get to deal with this… fucking bullshit…”  
“Ahh, Alemania… Veneziano had mentioned you were having issues.” And that was the _wrong_ thing to say. Spain could practically _see_ the steam coming out of Romano’s ears. Sure enough, he threw the spoon down in the pasta and whirled around, his back to Spain, to begin having a tantrum.  
“Ah, so Veneziano invited you over did he? Well that’s great, that’s just fucking great isn’t it? Little bastard probably did it on purpose, so he and potato could have sex in peace eh?! Perfetto. And I’m sure he talked you up all the way over here? Cazzo di lui! Well you know what, it’s all his fault anyway with his stupid pasta and his stupid potatoes… and… Spain, what the fuck?”  
“Hmm~ you get so worked up, Lovi~”  
It was slowly beginning to matter a lot less what Romano had been saying, because in the few moments that he’d had his back turned, Spain’s right arm was suddenly encircling his waist, his left snaking up to hold his chest, and a warm chest had come forward to press against his back. If Romano had thought his face was red before, it was on fire now.  
“Spain, what the fuck?!” He cried, and delivered the man a hard elbow to the gut (abs) for his efforts. “I WAS SPEAKING!”  
“Lo sé. Pero no estás hablando ahora. Siempre estás tan estresado, Romano. Yo solo quiero amarte.” His face at this point could put his flag to shame.  
“Sh-shut up! You’re just… stupid! You’re stupid! And get off of me, goddammit-” he threw another elbow that was easily avoided.  
“¿Pero tú realmente no quieres eso, Lovino?”  
“Sh-shut up.”  
“Hm~ give me something better to do, then?” There was a pause. Romano turned to regard Spain, brown eyes to green.  
… Romano turned off the stove.


End file.
